


Fall of the Tainted Queen

by TheFlamingNymph



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Absence, Competent Alistair, Denial, Divorce, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss of Spouse, Remarriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:23:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4343015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlamingNymph/pseuds/TheFlamingNymph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years has passed since the end of the Blight, Thedas has survived a Mage-Templar War and a hole in the sky, and the Queen has been missing for over a year and Ferelden nobility is pushing for an heir to the throne. King Alistair finds himself amidst all the politics and finds himself just wanting to be at her side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You need to stop avoiding this, Alistair.” Eamon’s voice is hard despite his age, his hands splayed on the table before him as he stared down his almost-nephew. “It’s been over a year since you’ve heard from her. In fact, it’s been longer than that since anyone has even seen the Queen. It’s time to consider remarrying.”

“I refuse to talk about this, Uncle.” Alistair’s voice was just as hard as his uncle’s. He was already weary of this conversation. It sprung up whenever Reinette lapsed into a ‘disappearance’, and Maker’s breath, did she disappear more times for his liking in ten years. Worry was gnawing at him, troubling his sleep more than the false Calling, and he suffered it just as quietly. She had never gone so long without contact. If the King failed to have faith that his Queen would return, then what of the people? “She will return, just as she always does.”

“Tell me, Alistair, even if she does return, what of your need of an heir? She’s been here often enough to prove to myself and the court that she is barren. You cannot act as if this is not an issue, your majesty. Those Venatori spies were in here just a month or so ago! What if they had succeeded, and assassinated you? The Theirin line ends with you, until you produce an heir. Better to do it now, than wait for old age to sneak upon you.”

Alistair wanted to rage at him, tell him that old age isn’t something that happened to Grey Wardens, but that would only give his uncle more ammunition. He wanted to tell him that he loved his wife, his Warden, and would wait for her until the real Calling claimed him, if needed, but he would just sound the love struck fool. It didn’t matter to his uncle that these things were true, there still wasn’t a prince or princess running around. “Enough. We will speak no more of this.” He waved his hand in dismissal at his uncle, something he would never have been bold enough to do, even a year ago. It seems his wife’s absence was causing him to grow into his own as king.

A messenger was striding up the hall, towards them. No messenger ever called on the king so late as this, and as the figure passed a lit sconce in the dim hallway, he recognized the blue-and-silver of the Wardens. His heart leapt at the possibility of some word from his beloved, something to stave Eamon off, yet something was wrong. The Warden was holding something in his arms, reverently, no message, but a sword. A sword that was as instantly recognizable as the woman who wielded it. A sword that should never be parted from it’s owner. “Your Majesty.” The messenger intoned.  
“Where is she?” The king demanded, hands shaking as they formed fists, denial sticking to him hard. That could not be her sword.

“The Warden-Commander sir... The Queen... She was lost.” The words came uncertainly from the young man in the face of the king’s ire.

“Lost how?” He was speaking through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know where, sire, but she was in the Deep Roads when a tunnel collapsed, separating her from her scouting party. They found a way around, but she wasn’t there anymore, just her sword and signs of darkspawn. We think... They may have taken her, sire.” He offered the sword to him, looking relieved once the burden was taken from him.

Alistair’s mind was numb. Lost? That woman had never been lost a Maker-damned day of her life. She always knew where she was going and where she had already been. Taken? She would never allow it. She knew what happened to women if darkspawn took them, she would not allow herself to be turned into a broodmother. As painful as the thought was, he knew she was strong enough to take her own life before letting that happen. None of this made sense. A cave in, and then his Queen was just gone?

“I take my leave of you both.” He snapped, walking in the direction of his quarters, leaving no time for either his uncle or the messenger to protest. He tossed the sword onto his bed, always too big in her absence and now... He couldn’t think on it. He found himself digging in his desk drawer where he found her last letter to him, the letter which he clung to like a drowning man. It still carried the faint scent of roses on it, and it made his heart hurt. He unfolded it carefully as he sank to sit on the bed.

  

> My love,
> 
> Do not let Eamon trouble you overly much. I will deal with the matter myself, when I return to court. You must notice he does not try these coups against your decisions when I am present. No, he does mean the best for the country, he just sometimes forgets a happy king can be just as powerful as one driven solely by duty. He forgets how the people react to the bond between us, the love between monarchs that is sadly lacking in most unions.
> 
> I hope to return soon, and make you and the people ever happier. I know you doubt whether my mission can bear success. You never needed to say as much, I saw the doubt in your eyes. You never wished me to trade our certain years together for doubtful extra years, but I have faith, and I ask you to have the same in me. When I return, you and I shall be freed of premature death, and with luck, and a quiet place to sneak away to, soon we will have the heir your Uncle so harasses us for. I know you will not be satisfied until I am home, safe, in your arms, but I’m doing this for our benefit, and the benefit of all Wardens, so they may have a better fate ahead of them than a tunnel full of darkspawn. Having seen those tunnels ourselves, that is no way to die, alone, forgotten.
> 
> Please tell Fergus not to worry himself to death, that this pup still has teeth and knows how to defend herself. Give my love to his wife and my nieces and nephews, and if they so ask, tell them stories of their Aunt. Not the ones everyone knows, mind you, tell them not of the Hero, but of their aunt. Tell them how I stood in awe of a halla in the woods, how I laughed with you and Leliana and Zevran. Tell them I will visit when I can, and I will bring them treasures.
> 
> The Deep Roads are cold without you, even as I hear the lava bubble yards beneath. The ground has never been so rough, so rocky. My tent has never been lonelier. Is it too much to hope for you waiting at the gates with a grin on your face as you did when I returned from Amaranthine? Is it asking to much to hope you’ve cleared your schedule for the day so I can take my time in being reacquainted with my King? I would write more, but I fear it took me far too long to find a moment of free time to even write this.
> 
> I love you, and do not fret, I will return as soon as I am able,
> 
> Reinette Theirin
> 
> P.S. - Allow me one girlish moment to say, nine years or no, I still smile at signing with your name.

He could feel the tears threatening to fall as he reread the letter. He had been so excited when he saw the letter with the blue wax and Warden seal, the wax scented of roses, as she liked to do. He had been teary then too, but more because of her fond words sparking a deep longing in him, not to be parted, to be at her side where he belonged and not in some Maker-damned meeting with nobles. The last line had made him laugh in a way only she could.

Their wedding had been a beautiful one, planned largely without their influence, or at least not his. He knew his part, stand in front of the Revered Mother, and try to contain himself during the proceedings. He hadn’t expected how beautiful she would look, in her white gown of silk and wispier fabrics. He hadn’t ever seen her in anything but armor, truth be told. The fabric had been cut beautifully for her, accentuating curves that distracted him so, but hiding scars that would distract anyone else. Her hair had been loose, washed, and left to wave and curl about her shoulders in a crimson wave. He had been so proud of her, how she carried herself in front of the whole court like she was made for it, and he supposed in a way she had been. She faltered only once, at seeing her brother stand where her father should have been, but she had recomposed herself and took Fergus’ hand as she was led up to the altar. The cheer as they kissed was deafening, and no one in the crowd could doubt that the king loved his queen, and vice versa. The grin on her face after they parted was proof enough, and he had no doubt he had so love struck foolish look on his face.

A foolish idea took him now, but he could not shake it. He would not. He stood, searching in the back of the room that served as his closet, to the chest that laid under too much dust. Inside laid his armor, not the fancy ceremonial stuff that he was to wear as king, but the dingy dented armor that had served him up through the end of the Battle of Denerim. He pulled it on after a moment’s preparation, adjusting straps where the years between it’s last use and now dictated. He went to his desk and wrote a letter, hasty but concise, waiting impatiently as the wax melted and he sealed the letter without any fuss for stamps or neatness. Vigilance was belted onto his hip next. He strode back into the hall, demanding the presence of the Warden messenger.

“Alistair, what are you wearing, what madness is this?” Eamon demanded, having not left the room, silently fuming over the foolishness of the king.

“Where was she, when she fell? Can you take me there?” Alistair demanded of the messenger, ignoring his uncle.

“I think so, sire. Not many know where exactly, but I can take you to them.” The messenger nodded, relieved that the king was no longer angry with him.

“Please do.” He summoned another messenger, one of his own, and left his messily sealed letter with them. “Eamon, you’re in charge while I’m away.”

“You’re not going after her, Alistair! She’s gone, it’s a fools errand, and especially not one for the king!” The older man raged.

“They lost sight of her, Eamon, they did not find a body.” His voice was as ice, cold but clear. “She would not let herself be taken by darkspawn, she’s too resilient for that. I will not believe her dead until I see her body myself. It’s no less than what she would do for me.”

“This is madness!”

“The only madness here is your lack of ability to see what this country would be if it weren’t for her. She’s never once given up on it, or me, and I shall not give up on her.” And with little other ceremony, he left before anything more could be said or summoned to stop him.


	2. Chapter 2

Every day there was more risk she could be dead, and that drove the king faster and faster through the countryside, following the messengers directions. He was almost upon the Warden camp they had spoken of now, and he was trying not to let the fatigue get to him. He had to be strong if he had any hope of finding her. He had to find her, he couldn’t leave her on her own in the Deep Roads. Unbidden, memories of Ruck and Hespith came to mind, the twisted ghoul and the broken woman.

_First day, they come and catch everyone._

He shivered, not wanting to think on that fate, not for his beautiful wife. Not the woman made of steel that was so soft with him, so caring and wonderful. His indestructible goddess. His stomach twisted and he was glad it was empty. He rode straight into the camp, several Wardens shouting at the sudden arrival.

“Sodding pike twirler, watch where you’re placing your bloody horse!” The gruff voice was a welcome sound. The red hair of the dwarf became visible as he dismounted from the horse, holding tight to the reins. Oghren was seated near the fire, a flask clutched firmly in his hand.

The next Warden to reach him was gaping slightly at the dwarf, in open disbelief. “Oghren this is...”

“The sodding King of Ferelden! I know damn well who he is, you bleeding idiot! By the stone, no drink is strong enough that I can forget him, regrettably enough.” He took to his feet and walked over to Alistair, awash in the familiar smells of spirits and unwashed clothing. “That mad woman took off into the Deep Roads and left the rest of us behind! Is it the wife part or the redheaded part that drive women into being sodding daft in the Deep Roads?”

Alistair handed the reins over to the second Warden, thanking him quietly before turning back to the berserker. His eyes were shining and not just from the drink, he was just as worried as Alistair, it seemed. Blustering to cover the emotion, sometimes Alistair wished it was that easy for him. Usually it was an awkwardly placed joke, but he couldn’t. Not about this.

_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat._

“I take it you’re joining me then?” He asked, taking a weary seat by Oghren, who clapped him heartily on the back.

“Of course I am. Better suited for this than any other duster you could try and scrounge up!”

“Who else is joining us?” He asked, taking the proffered flask from his friend.

“Some fancy lady mage that volunteered, this crazy duster that talks funny and looks half dead already, and Howe’s blighter.” He grumbled.

“Howe’s son? He’s helping us?” Alistair still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t some cosmic joke ten years in the making. He remembered worry and anger clutching him as he read Reinette’s first letter from Vigil’s Keep. The man had snuck into her keep, with every intention of killing her like his father killed her family, and it had taken not one, not two, but four Wardens to subdue the man from his task. And his lovely, foolish, magnificent wife had just handed him the Joining chalice like it was nothing!

“Bleh, just you shush. That woman of yours has some witch craft that turns people into bleeding saints, or close enough. First the elf, then that blighter. Think she has a whole crew of them stashed somewhere.” The warrior shrugged. “Sodding silver tongue on that one.”

He finally smiled, his wife did have one at that. Listening to her brother, he made it sound as if she had spent most of her time in the barracks, sparring against Ser Gilmore and other knights in her father’s employ, but obviously she hadn’t been slacking in listening to her mother about entertaining a court. What couldn’t she do?

_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._

“A mage and another, you said?”

“A fancy mage at that. Got her from the College of Enchanters or something. She was visiting the Inquisitor when your note came. She volunteered. The other is... I think he’s a pet of the Inquisitor? I don’t know how to describe him. He says strange shit.”

“Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate. Fifth day, they return and it’s another girl’s turn.”

“Bleeding right there he is!” Oghren raged, pointing a finger at the boy that sat across the fire from him, watching the fire with eerie fascination. “Knowing shit he shouldn’t!”

“The poem makes you hurt.” He said as if it explained everything, but he was watching Alistair now as he spoke. “Indestructible, you tell yourself. First was in wonder, now it’s a prayer. You worry about her so much. Bryce Cousland’s little spitfire. All grown up and still playing the man. Son is not like father, not anymore, never was, really. Can’t be the same if you don’t know. You should sleep if you want to leave in the morning.” And then the boy was gone.

“Creepy little shit.” was growled from next to him. “Inquisitor left a note with the mage about him.”

“Well, he was right, I should get some sleep.” Alistair sighed, looking around at the tents until Oghren pointed at one.

_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams._

He shook himself of the thought and crawled into the empty tent, but they kept coming back. Was this a fool’s errand, running out into the Deep Roads to find one woman? What was one woman against the hordes that prowled down there? She was magnificent, he reminded himself, she was unlike any other woman or warrior he had ever known. But she’s not immortal, the voice at the back of his head said, she’s not truly indestructible. Her body is crossed in scars that each threatened to prove those facts in their own way.

_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._

The sunbursts of arrows that had punched through armor, the ragged edges of lines where swords had rent flesh and time had knit back together, smooth patches, like glass, where fire and acid had gotten too close. He wondered how many additions would be in the making when he found her. If he found her. Maker please, let him find her.

_Eighth day, we hated as she is violated._

Would he find her body, crumpled where she was dropped out of an ogre’s fist? Would her body be burnt down to the bones from an emissary’s fireball? Would chunks be missing from her from a shriek’s claws? Would genlock and hurlock swords have carved out slices of meat from her, or would they just gnaw it straight from her body? Would he even recognize her body when he found it?

_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._

Would he find her as a broodmother? Twisted and corrupted until she barely looked like the woman he loved, the woman her cherished. Her abdomen distended as darkspawn grew within, ready to emerge. Would he be able to slay her then? How much would she look like herself, so freshly turned? Would the sight of it kill him? If he survived, could he even face the world after? Could he go back to his throne and act like he wanted to continue on? Would they search for him if he decided he couldn’t?

_Now she does feast, as she’s become the beast. Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Cole too much to not include him where I can. Besides, I feel he could probably feel Oghren and Nathaniel's pain at the supposed loss of the Warden-Commander and asked the Inquisitor if he could help their hurt. This world state Callista is my Inquisitor, and something tells me she's the Warden-Queen's biggest fan. 
> 
> And as always, I love comments and con crit, and kudos make me squee.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I've had such serious writers block when it comes to my longer fics. I hope you enjoy.

Alistair’s dreams were fitful, full of broodmothers with red hair and green eyes. His heart was pounding by the time someone had shaken him awake. A blonde woman, with clear blue eyes, that seemed to be around his age.

  
“Your Majesty, it’s time for us to get going. We have a Queen to save.” Her smile was kind and hopeful, and he wondered if she was the mage Oghren had mentioned. Nothing seemed fancy about her, but Oghren wasn’t the best judge on that, he supposed. He thanked her and waited for her to leave before he prepared himself, strapping on his armor and his queen’s sword, trying to will away the lump in his throat. She had to be alive, she had to. He would feel it if she were gone, how could he not?

  
The realization that soon they’d be down in the Deep Roads, walking the same paths as his wife, so soon after her, was making his head spin. He was so close, but was it enough? Would this be the closest he got to her after over a year of waiting, of wanting, of regretting his words to her, even though they had apologized via letter? He gasped down deep breaths of air to try and steady himself before going to face his small squad. It wouldn’t do for them to see him panic.

  
The blonde woman seemed to be handling getting everything organized in his stead, a staff now strapped to her back. She was double checking their packs, making sure they had all the water and rations they would need, making sure potions were stocked, and equipment well maintained. The boy from the night before stood slightly behind her, like a quiet shadow.

  
“Thank you.” He told her once the preparations were finished. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m--”

  
“The King of Ferelden, naturally.” She smiled, a blue tattoo under her left eye shifting with the pull of her cheeks. “Aurelia Trevelyan, but you can call me Aura.”

  
“Trevelyan?” But wasn’t that the Inquisitor’s last name?

  
“Here on the Inquisitor’s personal request. I’m her older sister, in fact. Callista would have been here herself if her advisors hadn’t talked her out of it, I’m sure. She holds a great respect for your wife, she knows all the stories, it would seem.” She seemed amused at the notion, hefting her own pack onto her shoulders.

  
“And your friend, here? Oghren said you had a note pertaining to him?” Alistair asked, watching the strange boy as he took a pack as well.

  
“His name is Cole, he’s a spirit of Compassion and he--”

  
“I help the hurting.” He finished for himself, looking up at the king through his bangs. “I hear the hurt, and I help. Or try to.”

  
“He volunteered. Our thoughts were that he can probably hear her before we see her, and he can help us find her that way. Cole doesn’t really like Wardens after what happened at Adamant, but he made an exception.”

  
“She helped too.” The spirits eyes were shining. “She saw small hurts while the world was hurting, and took time when no one else would. She made smiles where others ignored frowns.”

  
He hadn’t thought he’d ever hear his wife described so accurately in such vague terms. He smiled a little then, thinking on those times, when she’d call them all to a halt, to help the small boy who lost his mother, or Bevin with his grandfather’s sword. Morrigan had always voiced her disapproval for the distraction, and she had always smiled and bore the disdain with grace, which had pleased him to no end, watching the witch fume as she did.

  
“Yes, she did.” His voice was getting husky, and he cleared his throat.

  
“Are we going or what?”

  
“Yes, Oghren, just as soon as everyone’s eaten.” The mage shook her head, excusing herself to make sure everyone was where they needed to be, doing what needed to be done.

  
It was another hour before everyone was ready. Their group of five was such a motley looking assortment that he felt a pang of nostalgia. Here they were, a warrior king from Ferelden, a Marcher mage, a dwarven berserker, an Ferelden archer, and a spirit of compassion. Ready to storm the Deep Roads like some underdog story of legend. He’d find it funny, if it weren’t for the fact that this same recipe of misfits banding together hadn’t been successful so many times in the past decade.

  
“How exactly was she lost, again?” Alistair asked as they decended into the Deep Roads, a place he never wanted to return to.

  
“The Warden-Commander took advance point on a scouting party, we’re told. They were progressing smoothly down a tunnel when they encountered darkspawn, ogres specifically, the scouts said. More than they had ever seen before. The Commander held her position, but signalled for the scouts to retreat. There was an explosion, thought to be the work of Master Dworkin explosives. She always kept some on her. By the time they dug through, all they found were some dead ogres, with Vigilance stuck in the chest of one. There was no sign of the Commander. Either she walked out of there alone, or they took her.” It was Nathaniel that answered him, his voice somber and respectful, which helped slightly in improving Alistair’s thoughts on the man.

  
“What’s your opinion?”

  
The older man regarded the king for a careful moment before answering. “She’s alive under her own power. She knows what captive women become, she’d bite through her own tongue and drown on her blood before allowing them to take her alive.”

  
“Not before taking down as many of the sodding bastards as she could, of course.” Oghren added, grinning through his beard. “She’s a crazy broad, and I’m somewhat of an expert there. My bet is we find her on a throne of darkspawn corpses.”

  
Alistair chuckled, but his stomach was churning. If she were alive, why was Vigilance left in the ogre’s chest? Unless... The only explanation for her being alive and Vigilance left behind was if she had let her rage take her in the way Oghren had taught her. If that happened, they might very well find her atop darkspawn corpses, but at what cost? When she was consumed by her rage, she didn’t think, not of her own injuries or fatigue, and would continue to fight until all enemies were vanquished or her body failed.

  
“And it’s been how long exactly?” His throat was growing tighter, and he tried to tamp down his emotions.

  
“Three weeks. We must move quickly.” Nathaniel answered again.

  
“If she found a place to hide, she’d be pretty well off. There’s nugs and mushrooms for food, deepstalkers if she got desperate. All she’d need besides that is an underwater spring, and she could last indefinitely.” Aurelia supplied, trying to keep the mood light. “But still, quickly is better. You all have people to return to.” Nathaniel’s cheeks tinged pink ever so slightly, and Oghren grumbled under his breath.

  
“You don’t?” Alistair asked, noticing her choice in words.

  
“The Circle didn’t leave much room in the way of relationships, at least not for the kind worth pursuing. I do have my sister, though.” She smiled, a friendly one, and kept it up until he smiled back. “That’s better.”


End file.
